Title: Unbreakable - Surviving the Truth
Category: AU, M/L
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The characters of Roswell belong to its founder - Jason Katims, Twentieth Century Fox Corporation, Regency Entertainment, and Monarchy B.V.
Summary: The UNBREAKABLE Saga is the tale of lost civilizations, aliens, hybrids, secrets and the forced bridge between two worlds. But mostly, it is about love. The forbidden love between a hybrid boy and a human girl.
Max, Michael and Isabel were part of the rich and popular crowd at Roswell High. The intelligent, yet respected, Liz moved in different circles, preferably avoiding the aforementioned trio at all costs. Until that Halloween party, which changed everything.
Liz used to joke about there being something different and dark about the beautiful triad; what if she was right? What if the small town in New Mexico hid terrible secrets and repeatedly silenced the truth? Had a small town girl stumbled upon a dangerous cover-up?
Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie
Unbreakable - Forging Bonds
Author’s Note: I never expected this story to become so long. Due to length, I have decided to split this story into 3 books (creating the Unbreakable Saga) and the first split was in the middle of the thread of "Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie". So if you're suddenly concerned that you have missed book 2, you haven't - if you have read every chapter on the thread called "Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie". Since I didn't want to lose feedback, I did not make an actual split between book 1 ("A Beautiful Lie") and book 2 ("Forging Bonds"). Instead, the second book started at chapter Sixty-One.
Thank you’s: Elizabeth, my solid editor. Ashley, my support and my sounding board.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated and welcomed
Her arm was covered in blood, the red fluid dripping from her fingertips as she stretched her hand towards me. ”It’s not about you, Liz. This is not about you.”
The tears were wet against my cheeks. ”Mom, you’re bleeding.”
She was calm as she nodded. ”They’re all dead. They all died. But not you. You survived.”
I followed the red trail of blood down her body, saw how it was drenching her clothes, fearfully noting how blood was dripping from between her legs.
I swayed, nausea running up my esophagus. Blood. Too much blood. Blood everywhere.
The frightening large amount of blood made the clothing stick to her body, revealing the small bump in the center of her body. The visible sign of pregnancy.
”We need to get you to a hospital!” I was desperate, my voice breaking with fear. She was bleeding out. No one could survive losing that much blood.
Her hand clamped down on my upper arm, smearing warm blood on my skin, fingers digging into my shuddering flesh.
”Mom,” I tried again. She was so close now, I could smell the blood. The metallic, sickening smell of fresh blood.
On instinct, I reached out and grabbed her arm, feeling like I should steady her. But maybe it was I who needed support to remain standing, because mom looked absolutely fine. If it wasn’t for all that blood, I wouldn’t have suspected that anything was wrong. Her gaze was level with mine, her lips soft in a loving understand line, and she was exuding calmness.
”You’re losing the baby.” My own observation rung false in my head. Mom had never had a baby after me. As far as I knew, she had never been pregnant after having me. So why was she pregnant? And why was she miscarrying? Because that was obviously what she was doing. Something must be ripping her apart from the inside, considering the amount of blood everywhere.
She blinked, sadness filling her eyes, and said resolutely, ”No.”
I frowned. ”Mom, listen to me. You need to go to-”
”It’s not me, it’s you,” she interrupted.
Her nonsensical interruption burrowed into my heart like a dulled knife. Her words brought back reality and I directed my gaze downwards, down my own body, while mom’s next words struck my eardrums, ”You are losing the baby, Lizzie.”
To emphasize her harsh statement, I felt warmth between my legs and the accompanied nausea threatened to overtake me. My hand was shaking as I wiped it down over my flat abdomen and I barely noticed the distortion in my mother’s voice as she repeated, ”You are losing the baby, Lizzie,” her female voice growing hoarser and more masculine towards the end of that observation.
Next I knew, mom was gone and so was all the blood. Instead, I was in bed with Max’s dark worried eyes fixed on my face, the soft shine from the bedside light shrouding his face in haunting shadows.
”It’s happening,” he told me, gently cradling my cheek.
I sat up with a start, almost pushing him over, ripping the sheet to the side only to see the blood saturate the white sheet, while I felt its warmth cling to the insides of my thighs.
I was aware of his calm concern as the air left me.
I put my hands in the blood, as if the baby was there somewhere, panic rolling through me in waves. Somewhere at the back of my head I knew that I at most would find a ball similar to a clot. I knew because I had seen the baby inside my uterus and I knew that it was small.
Still, I wanted to see it. I wanted to feel my baby.
He was kissing my bare shoulder, cautiously touching my back, telling me things in a soothing voice, things I neither heard nor registered. I felt the love from him barging through my mind, trying to fill me up through the connection.
But I was losing a baby. We hadn’t planned for a baby, we were still kids ourselves, but the fact remained that I was losing a baby. A baby that had died inside of me.
As I cried - my fingers covered in blood, my uterus cramping to expel the membranes - I cursed Command. Over and over again. He had killed our baby. There was little doubt that the fetus had died when Max and I had died. The chance of a pregnancy - even the one created by two parims, tied together by a connection - being able to survive the mother being dead for several minutes was slim.
He was telling me he loved me. Over and over again. He was sending healing energy into my uterus, his hand pressed up against my lower abdomen, lessening the sensations of the cramping, ensuring that I was not losing too much blood.
Max was taking care of me. In every way possible. In any way he could. Which made me cry even harder, my shoulders shaking with the wrecking sobs.
Despite Max’s efforts at calming me down, my mind was determined to wander. When he carried my shivering and sobbing body into the shower to wash the blood away, my thoughts fled into darkness. Sergeant Steven Carter had tried his best to break me when I was in captivity, casually informing me of how he had repeatedly raped my mother, how every single baby conceived from some of those horrible acts had died in the womb. He had wanted me to doubt a happy life with Max, because Max was alien and I was not. He planted the insidious seed in my mind that a gaea would never have a child with an alien, hybrid or pure.
Max had managed to talk me out of those thoughts a while back, but since finding out about my pregnancy and the subsequent information about an impending miscarriage, my whole world had been shaken.
The water was running down my body, his hands moving gently across my naked skin to help in removing the blood, while I stood dazed and apathetic, watching the pink water swirl down the drain.
Max was trying to reach me through the connection, but my own mind was screaming too loudly for me to hear him.
You will never bear Max Evans’ children. You will never have a child with Max. Never.
”Elizabeth Parker,” the elderly man announced slowly in a warm and gentle voice, spreading his arms out in an inviting gesture. Like he thought I would run straight into them and accept his offered hug.
But I did not know Max Evans’ grandfather, George Evans. Because of that reason alone, I should not be particularly inclined to accept his welcoming embrace. But to be honest, there was something compelling about him. Something that made me feel safe. Something that made me want to get to know him.
Looking at Philip Evans’ father, who up until two minutes ago I had believed to be dead, it felt as though I had known the man forever. Like he was the long lost grandfather that I never knew I had.
His smile was warm, his brown eyes kind. They almost twinkled, his eyes. As if he was carrying a secret that only he knew. The eyes brightened with warm humor at my hesitation and, without appearing disappointed, he lowered his arms and accepted my chosen distance.
George Evans echoed my silent conclusion. “You don’t know me, Elizabeth.” He lowered his voice to add, giving me a confidant wink, “Or is it Liz?”
Lost for words, I nodded.
I searched out Max’s hand. He was standing silently next to me, his mind quiet, his stance still. His only sign of life was the light squeeze of my hand as our fingers interlaced.
George Evans smiled kindly and repeated, “You don’t know me, Liz, but I have met you many times.”
This should not surprise me. After all, the aliens were no strangers to the art of erasing memories. Still, I was both surprised and a little disappointed by the elderly man’s statement.
To be honest, I was mostly disappointed. Max’s grandfather seemed like a person that I would want to keep my memories about. He seemed like the person that one would love to have in one’s life.
“When?” I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“The first time was when you were merely a couple of days old,” George Evans replied. “It had just been confirmed that you, like your mother, carried the gaea gene.” The expression in his eyes grew sad, the compassion that filled them clogged my own throat up with emotions. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Liz.”
I tried to swallow. Max squeezed my hand. My throat prickled with sudden tears.
“Thank you,” I whispered, diverting my eyes to a spot in the floor one foot ahead of me.
“I have watched you grow up,” George Evans continued after a couple of seconds of silence. “I have spoken to you on the street once or twice. If my memory doesn’t fail me, I believe you were skipping rope with your friends one of those times.” His forehead wrinkled in contemplation. “And another time you were coloring the pavement with crayons or something alike.”
I frowned. “You have spoken to me?” If it had been any other stranger telling me that he had been watching me grow up and even made contact, it would have scared me. But I felt no shivers, no danger, only curiosity.
“You might only remember me as a random man on the street,” George Evans said and shrugged his shoulders. “Probably not enough to make a permanent imprint in your memory. It was not supposed to affect you or make you remember me. I only wanted to speak with you.”
His eyes moved from my face to Max’s, making me follow the direction of his gaze to the blank face of my boyfriend. “I’m sorry I left you, Max.”
Max’s face was pale, almost white, as he squeezed his lips together, a deep line between his eyebrows.
“And I’m sorry I left you, Isabel,” George Evans continued, looking at Isabel.
George Evans addressing others brought my attention to the fact that I was not alone with Max and his grandfather. The grandfather had probably spoken to the others in the room while Max went to get me, considering that Isabel’s face was a teary mess and even Philip Evans appeared to be having trouble keeping his emotions in check. In fact, Philip Evans looked like he was about to simultaneously cry with relief and scream in anger. An odd sight to witness.
Letting his gaze wander over the participants of the living room, George Evans told us, “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yes,” Philip said, affirming his confident authority in that one syllable.
George nodded. “But first, Liz needs to rest.”
All eyes flew to me, confusion mixed with suspicion blended with annoyance. My heart skipped a beat. I hated being at the center of attention. Especially when I didn’t myself know what was going on or how I could remove myself from it.
But looking into George’s kind eyes, it slowly dawned on me that he knew. Somehow he knew that I had, merely minutes ago, found out that I was pregnant. He could see auras too and was probably the most skilled of all the Evans men. Somehow he also knew that I needed some time alone, to get my bearings.
I glanced at Philip’s face wondering if he knew too. A heavy coldness slowly crawled into me at the possibility of Max’s father also knowing of my pregnancy, just like Max had, before I had. It brutally brought back the emotions I had felt not long ago, feeling not only hurt but also betrayed by Max. Without a single attempt at sugarcoating, my emotions crash-landed as I was reminded of what had just happened before the reality of the return of the long lost grandfather was added to my life.
Unaware of what I was doing, I pulled my hand out of Max’s grip and took a step to the side - one step away from my boyfriend. His eyes burned into the side of my face, but I couldn’t get myself to look at him.
Instead I addressed George in a burning voice, “You are right, Mr. Evans. I need to rest.”
George looked from my face to Max’s, a slight confusion to his expression. He understood that I knew what he meant by his suggestion, but he probably hadn’t expected my reaction. Still, his voice remained as gentle as before when he said, “It was nice meeting you, Liz. I have been looking forward to it for a long time.”
I tried to smile. Really. I tried. But my eyes were burning with tears and my body was trembling with a sudden lack of energy. “Nice meeting you too, Mr. Evans.”
Max’s hand wrapped around my upper arm as I turned with the intention of leaving the room. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered, “I’m coming with you.”
I stilled and looked up at him. I looked into those dark eyes, with the long dark lashes that I loved, the blush to his upper cheeks, and the sharpness of his jaw. I saw the dark circles under his eyes, the thinness to his once powerful jaw, and the dryness to his lips. I could see the pain shining out of those confident eyes, felt his desperate need to explain in the way he was gripping my arm, and saw the request for forgiveness and understanding in the worried shape of his mouth.
The words that came out of my mouth were as impersonal and distant as the cold manner in which I was delivering them. “You stay here with your family. Your grandfather just came back from the dead. You should talk to him.” I didn’t recognize my own voice. But I didn’t care. I had needed Max to explain in the bathroom earlier, but he had chosen to prioritize something else. I wasn’t ready to listen now. I wasn’t ready to talk anymore.
His grip tightened, his breath flew over my face, as he whispered forcefully, “Liz…”
A tear dropped from my eyelash as my gaze fell to the floor and I brokenly whispered, “I can’t.”
“I can explain,” he said, his eyes pleading while his grip on my arm remained obstinate.
“Don’t,” I warned him.
I was aware of the fact that the room was quiet. That everyone might be watching us. That everyone might be wondering what was happening between the Star Crossed Lovers.
“I need to be alone,” I added, meeting his eyes while emphasizing every word.
He looked at me for a long time. Searching my eyes. Silently begging me to let him come with. Well, not silently per say. I could hear him very clearly in my head. Through the buzzing of my hurt and pain, I could hear him asking me to let him explain, that we needed to talk, that things were not as they seemed.
It resulted in me pressing my eyes tightly shut and whispering, “Please. Stop.”
Get out of my head, my mind told him.
His reaction to my words was shocked coldness. I felt how taken back he was at my order and heard how it silenced everything in his own mind.
He let me go. His hand dropped away from my arm and he diverted his thoughts away from me. It was the only way he could leave me at peace now when we were, by all things that counted, unable to block the other.
His conclusive mumbled, “Fine,” cut through my heart. I could hear his own hurt in that single word and I struggled to not give in and reach for his hand, to retract my request for him to leave me alone.
His dark eyes met mine and I shielded myself from the wetness in those eyes. My hand unconsciously drifted to the lower part of my abdomen and it was not until Max’s eyes dropped to follow that hand movement that I realized that my mind had traveled to the fetus in my womb.
“Let me explain,” he tried again, our gazes locked on my abdomen, on my trembling hand resting against my sweater.
I swallowed. Without looking at him, I said, “Talk to your grandfather. Be with your family.”
“You are my family.”
I broke along with the break in his voice. The desperation. His fear that he had done something that might permanently damage us.
Tears fell down my cheeks as I chose not to respond. The words were getting stuck in my throat, like traffic at rush hour. I was left with only one option: Escape.
So I did.